Bees in the Eaves

We write in darkness. We lovein alleys. We breathe into beigepaper bags. Anything to mollifythe confusion. Anything to simplifythe math. I am beset, even by rest.And when I close my eyes, the worldis still macaronic. I feel for the wolfabout to be trapped in the landfill.I feel for the crab about to scamper from the net. I feel for humanity whenthe brightness of sick knowledge fallsfrom exorbitant air. But remediesabound. There's a remedy for everything.And a remedy for every remedy.